Текст книги "The Invisibility Affair"

Автор книги: Thomas Stratton

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Solo shook his head. "I've never heard of it before. Evidently its powers don't include sustained unconsciousness, however. It must be something Chicago supplied; I don't think Thrush tampered with our briefcase. I'll ask Mr. Waverly when I make the next report."

Illya shrugged. "There doesn't seem to be much we can do about the escape now. You might arrange to get the car back to the rental agency; considering what it's been through, you'd better assign your most diplomatic agent to the job."

"And have someone contact Charlie Reed," Napoleon added. "He's probably wondering what became of his margarine. Tell him it was destroyed in action, and we'll arrange for the Chicago branch to get him some more."

Brattner nodded and left the agents to their bath.

Returning to the living room several minutes later, Napoleon felt more assured in a clean white shirt and fresh suit. "Now we can get down to business, Miss Griffin," he said. "We understand that you were a frequent visitor at the home of Dr. Morthley outside Mukwonago a few weeks ago."

"Not precisely a visitor, Mr. Solo," she replied. "I was working for him."

"Working?" Napoleon sat down on a couch facing her.

"Yes. I'm a technical writer, and..." She paused, her face slightly flushed. "I must apologize for before. It's only that I'm so used to writing technical literature for government consumption. When I get flustered—and you people are enough to fluster anyone—I'm afraid I tend to lapse into rather unfortunate forms of phraseology and terminology." She broke off again and smiled slightly. "Like that."

"That's quite all right," Napoleon reassured her, relieved to discover that she occasionally spoke English. "By the way, may I call you Kerry?"

"Please do," she replied. "I've always favored informal nomenclature whenever its use is practicable."

"You started to say you worked for Dr. Morthley?" Illya asked patiently.

She looked up at him. "Yes. He needed someone to help him prepare a proposal to submit to the government. He thought he had a revolutionary discovery, but to properly develop the potential he need financial assistance."

"What kind of invention? And why do you say he thought he had a discovery?"

"Because its practicability was obviously negated by ..." She laughed suddenly and shook her head. Napoleon noticed that her hair whirled enticingly, not at all the way a technical writer's hair should act. "I mean, it just couldn't work. He said he had discovered a way to make thing invisible! Did you ever hear of anything so fantastic?"

The agents exchanged glances. "I'm afraid we have," Napoleon said. "What happened to the proposal? Did he submit it?"

"I assume that he did, although that assumption may not be one hundred percent reliable. I completed my assignment and he said he would submit the total package within a few days. That was in April."

"That would explain how Thrush found out about it," Illya commented. "We know they have a few people infiltrated into the government who report on any unusual proposals or patent applications."

"Yes," agreed Napoleon. "I have positive assurance that the U.S. Patent Office is riddled with card-carrying Thrushes. Incidentally"—he turned to Kerry—"how did Dr. Morthley get in touch with you? Did he advertise for a technical writer, or what?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm his niece. He helped pay my college expenses—in the hope, I think, that I'd take all science courses and end up as his assistant. After I switched to writing, I helped him several times with his proposals. This was just the latest one."

"Do you recall any of the details of the proposal?" Napoleon asked.

"No, but I can show it to you; my part, at least." She rose and started down the hallway. "I keep a complete file of all my work—except classified jobs, of course. I'll get it for you."

Napoleon followed close on her heels. The door at the far end of the hall opened on a small office with a desk, filing cabinet, and an electric typewriter. She opened the top drawer of the cabinet, and searched briefly through the folders before she withdrew one and handed it to Solo.

"Even if Uncle Willard did have a practical invisibility machine, I doubt that this would tell you much," she said. "It's primarily a description of the device intended for laymen. The technical details and formulae were contained in a separate section which he supplied and which I never personally observed."

Napoleon opened the folder and glanced at the first page. "Yes, I see. I think Illya had better look at this." He led the way from the office to the living room and handed the folder to Illya. "What do you make of this?"

Illya scanned the title page, reading aloud. "Proposal for the Further Development and Refinement of the Omnidirectional Total Spectrum Molecular Interpenetration Device." He looked at the first page. "The basic function of the Omnidirectional Total Spectrum Molecular Interpenetration Device (OTSMID) is to establish an energy field, by means of which all matter within its range is caused to become possessed of certain qualities which make it possible for the entire spectrum of electromagnetic radiation to pass totally unimpeded through that matter. The precise manner in which this is accomplished is, at present, largely conjectural; however, it is to be assumed that some warping of the space-time continuum is involved. Experimental evidence produced to date would seem to support the theory that the field, in some still-to-be-defined but probably random manner minutely shifts the phase relationship between the matter within the field and the matter external to the field. Gross phenomena, such as molecular vibrations in the sonic ranges are, insofar as our experiments have shown, unaffected by..." Illya broke off, nodding his head.

"It's a government proposal, all right," he said.

"I'm glad to hear it," Napoleon said, "but what does it say?"

Illya quickly skimmed through the first few pages, then looked up. "As Miss Griffin said earlier, it's a machine that makes things invisible. It apparently does this by setting up a field which renders everything within that field totally transparent."

Napoleon's eyebrows went up. "Hold it! I've read my share of science fiction. If someone is made totally transparent, he is also totally blind; the light rays pass right through his eyeballs instead of being picked up by them."

Illya winced slightly. "Well, that's a rough description, yes. Dr. Morthley admits there are a few bugs to be ironed out. In fact, that is the primary reason for this proposal. He had the basic formula worked out for some sort of nullifier which would enable anyone inside the field to see other thins inside the field though still unable to see out. But he needed money to build one."

"It still seems to leave something to be desired," Napoleon said. "It strikes me that it would be difficult to sneak up on someone if you have to feel your way all the time."

Illya shrugged. "Presumably if a device for seeing inside the field could be built, eventually it would be possible to design something to enable one to see out of the field. More time and money involved. An equally serious problem seems to be that the field is generated in a spherical pattern; not only would the man inside have to feel his way around, but he would always be dragging a small pit around with him as the ground under his feet became transparent."

"A pit? Remember Charlie Reed's description of the house? It had been replaced by a circular pit."

"Yes," Illya agreed. "There doesn't seem to be any doubt that Dr. Morthley had a working model of his OTSMID, or that Thrush has it now. If they also have the formula for the nullifier they should have it built within a few days, although I admit I can't see any practical use for it once they get it built."

Napoleon turned to the girl, who had been listening admiringly to Illya's translation of the first pages of the proposal. "We had better take this with us, Kerry. Are there any other copies that you know of?"

"This is the fourth carbon. I left the original and the first three carbons with Dr. Morthley. That should be all of them."

"Do you remember any details that might not be included in this, Miss Griffin?" asked Illya, holding up the proposal.

She stood up and walked lithely to Illya's side. "Informal nomenclature, please." She smiled. "Just Kerry." She took the proposal from his hand and flipped through the pages. After a minute she handed it back.

"Very little," she said. "I think he said it operated on dc. For his prototype, he mentioned using a number of auto storage batteries connected series-parallel."

Illya nodded. "One advantage for us, at least. It doesn't seem to be very easily portable. Thrush will have to use a truck to transport it, and not a small one if those gouges in Dr. Morthley's floor are any indication. However, if they don't move it, we'll have a problem locating it." He turned to Brattner. "Do you have any idea of the location of Thrush's Milwaukee satrapy?"

Brattner shook his head. "We did have. In fact, we had the place bugged so well that we knew as much about local Thrush activity as they did. But when they brought in these new men, McNulty and Forbes, they evidently located our equipment and abandoned the place. We haven't found their new one yet."

Kerry had been looking at the U.N.C.L.E. agents in puzzlement. Finally she spoke up. "Tell me, Illya—just what is this Thrush that you're talking about?"

Illya smiled. "It's another acronym. Just as U.N.C.L.E. stands for United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, Thrush stands for Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity. Sound rather like another government proposal, doesn't it. In simple terms, it's an organization which wants to rule the world and isn't fussy about the means it uses to get in power. Currently, its means include kidnapping your uncle and stealing his invisibility machine."

Napoleon nodded. "Tell me, Mess Griffin, would you be willing to help us recover your uncle and his machine? You would be in some danger, but then the mere fact that you are Dr. Morthley's niece place's you in danger."

Kerry looked dubious. "It's hard to believe that I'm in danger, but I do owe a lot to Uncle Willard. What do you want me to do?"

"Get captured." Napoleon smiled as Kerry's eyebrows rose. "You see, Thrush is already after you. We heard one of their agents giving orders to pick you up. Once they have you, they'll probably take you to their local headquarters, where they presumably have your uncle and his machine. We'll be following you, and once we've located their headquarters it will be a fairly simple matter to rescue both you and Dr. Morthley. Actually, you won't be in any more danger that you are here. Less, really, since we'll be watching you all the time."

Kerry shivered slightly. "I suppose I might as well. But what happens if they grab me when you're not looking, or you lose them while you're pursuing them?"

"We have ways." Napoleon took a small pill bottle from his briefcase and held it up. 'you do have detectors for these?" he asked Brattner. When the latter nodded, he continued. "These look like ordinary aspirin, but they're not. After you're captured—or preferably just before you're captured, if you have time—swallow one of these. It's a tiny transmitter. It won't operate until it's swallowed and the normal acid in your stomach can act as an electrolyte for the battery. Then it will broadcast a single tone burst every few minutes; how often will depend on just how acid your stomach is. We'll leave a few of your Milwaukee agents outside; Thrush would get suspicious if we made your capture too easy. They should at least give you enough warning to enable you to take the pill, but if not you can develop a headache after you're captured. Keep the pill bottle on you at all times."

Kerry nodded. "Where will you be?"

"We'll have to stay well out of sight, but we'll be in range of the transmitter. You can't follow a good agent too closely these days; there are too many ways of spotting followers. It's easier to let them think they're getting away with it. By the way, once you get to their headquarters, stick close to Dr. Morthley. We won't have any way of locating him independently, and we may be in a hurry when we get you out."

Illya spoke to Brattner. "Leave about three agents around the house. Not your best men, incidentally."

Brattner erupted. "I've only got four agents! Two on days and two on nights, and all of us have been logging overtime trying to locate the new Thrush base. I'll call in the two night men, and that's all I can afford. The two outside are the day men, and they have to sleep sometime. Ever since they transferred all my best men to that San Sebastian fracas, I've been short-handed."

"All right." Napoleon spoke placatingly. "Make it two men. Instruct them to offer token resistance and then play dead, if possible. Thrush will be in too much of a hurry to inspect them closely—we hope. And I think the rest of us had better get a little rest. It isn't likely Thrush will strike tonight; they'll wait for us to drop our guard." He turned to Kerry. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, and I trust we'll meet again shortly, this time in company with your uncle."

Kerry smiled. "I hope so, too. Incidentally, Illya, I couldn't help wondering, the way you read that proposal. Were you ever a technical writer? So many men are incompetent in these things."

Illya looked enigmatic. "We Russians understand these things," he said.

Napoleon raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he and Brattner followed Illya outside.

Chapter 4

"I Never Realized Thrush Was Civic Minded"

Brattner took no chances on being tailed on the drive to Milwaukee U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. Napoleon noted with approval that the local agent had completely mastered the science of going through stoplights on the yellow "Caution" signal, leaving any followers with the choice of losing ground or conspicuously running a red light. Coupling this maneuver with occasional lightning swerves into alleys gave reasonable assurance that nobody was following them when Brattner turned the car into an alley just a few blocks from the downtown area. It was a dreary section, not far from one of the sprawling breweries that claimed to have made Milwaukee famous. The fronts of elderly stores in greater or lesser degrees of dilapidation lined one side of the street. On the other side, a number of freight cars sat in a rail terminal.

Brattner parked the car in a small open area at the rear of the alley. "This way, gentlemen," he said, stepping out of the car and leading the way to a dimly-lit door with a rusty-looking padlock above the knob. He fitted a key to the lock, explaining, "During the day, we could get in through the front, but the shop closes at nine o'clock and it's less conspicuous to use the back entrance."

The door creaked open. Stepping through, they found themselves in the rear of a long narrow shop. Light from the street filtered through the unwashed display window and revealed several shelves of records lining one wall. Near the front on the other side was a counter, and at the back, just to their right as they entered, were three listening booths.

Brattner secured the door, then turned to the middle and largest booth. "Just follow me," he said as he pulled open the door and stepped inside. A small but comfortable-looking chair faced the turntable and a pair of bulky hi-fi earphones lay back of the tone arm. Brattner lowered the blind on the door and turned to the turntable controls. He set the turntable speed at 78 rpm, picked up the tone arm, tilted it up and back until something clicked, then gave the turntable a sharp spin backwards. The back wall of the booth slid smoothly up into the ceiling.

Brattner reached around the corner and flipped on a light, revealing a small reception room with a desk, typewriter, and small filing cabinet. He motioned Illya and Napoleon in, then followed. A pushbutton located under the light switch returned the booth wall to its former position. Illya glanced around the room and his eyes halted at the filing cabinet. A dozen hefty record albums were stacked on top of it. Peering at them more closely, Illya said, "Somebody here must like Wagner. I see you have at least two complete recordings of the Ring Cycle."

"Those are our cover," Brattner explained. "While the shop is open, we give one of these to any agent who has to leave through the booth. If anyone wonders why he's been in there so long, the Wagner explains it." He pushed open a door and motioned them into a narrow hallway. "There's nobody here but us, the day shift went off duty at six. Now, you need detectors for those transmitter pills. We have one of the standard models, and I think we still have one of the wrist models that only indicates direction. We're supposed to have two of the wrist models, but George's kids got into one of them. George is a good, dependable agent, but he will leave equipment lying around the house, and those kids of his..."

"I think we'll be all right," Napoleon said, opening his briefcase and rummaging through it. "The Chicago office provided the pills, so presumably they...hmm. Illya would you see if you have a detector in your briefcase?"

Illya's search was equally fruitless. "It would seem," he announced, "that we are destined to get by with one standard and one wrist detector."

"They're in the supply room," Bratner said, pushing open a door and pawing through the crowded metal shelves like a dog after a bone.

"By the way," Napoleon said casually, "we heard from the Chicago office that you were having some unusual problems up here."

Brattner stopped his search long enough to glance balefully over his shoulder, then returned to work. "I suppose you could call it that," he muttered. "If we don't watch out, Thrush may get us evicted for urban renewal this year."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances. "I never realized that Thrush was civic minded," Napoleon commented.

Brattner snorted. "These new boys, Forbes and McNulty are quite a pair. They know the general location of headquarters, but they've never been able to pinpoint the building. So McNulty came up with the bright idea of getting the whole area condemned for urban renewal. The new expressway is going to miss us by just a few blocks, a new civic center is being pushed for an area even closer, and urban renewal is cropping up everywhere. You saw what that street outside looked like; it wouldn't take much to get this block included. We kept ahead of them while we had their headquarters bugged, but recently their lobbying has begun to pay off." He backed out of the crowded supply room, holding what looked like a miniature oscilloscope with a three-inch screen. "Here's the big detector," he said, handing it to Illya. "Now to find the wrist model."

"Would it really be such a big job to move?" Napoleon asked/ "It's rather a small operation, compared to, say, the Chicago office."

Brattner snorted as he returned to his rummaging. "Do you realize what the telephone company charges to install all this special equipment? And you know what Mr. Waverly is like when it comes to the budget; why do you think we're in this low-rent area to begin with? Oh, sure, we could move if we had to. But it would cause a lot of problems. Besides, how would it look on my service record? Who's going to promote an agent who got run out of his won headquarters by urban renewal? Somehow we've—ah, here it is!" He emerged from the room with a wristwatch-sized device which he handed to Napoleon as he kicked the door shut.

"Shall we check them out?" asked Illya, wiping a layer of dust from the larger detector's screen.

Brattner nodded and led the way down the hall. "Certainly. I think they're in good shape, but we haven't been able to keep up our periodic checks lately, the way we're undermanned." He pushed open the last door on the left. "Here's our lab."

Illya walked over to the bench full of electronic equipment that lined one wall. He pulled what looked like a small, complicated signal generator to the front of the bench, flipped a switch on its front panel, and expertly plugged a pair of angling leads into the back of the detector. After waiting a few seconds for the transistorized circuits in the tester to stabilize, he began setting the controls. When he was finished, he pressed a final button and watched the detector screen closely.

A second later, a sharp beep sounded and a bright green dot appeared on the crosshatched screen. "Very good," Illya murmured. "It's as close as we can expect with a screen this size." The dot slowly faded until it was barely visible. "Did the wrist model pick it up, too?" he asked, turning to Napoleon.

"The needle flickered," Solo replied, "but it didn't get a chance to home in."

Illya nodded. "I didn't think it would. There isn't much leakage radiation from these testers." He unplugged the larger detector from the tester and held the leads in front of him while he pressed the button on the tester again.

"That got it," Napoleon informed him. "It's pointing at you."

"Fine," Brattner said. "We have two antenna setups for the standard rig—one in our communications center down the hall and one in my car. Which do you want?"

"We'll take the communications center, if it has any comfortable furniture in it," Napoleon decided. "We don't really need a fast getaway; after all, the idea is to trail them at a distance. And I could use some sleep, after the past few days."

"There's a couch," Brattner said, leading the two agents across the hall into a room that was a miniature version of the New York communications center. Illya could recognize among other things, a console that apparently was linked directly to the main data center in New York. He also recognized the couch and headed for it.

"You dozed a few minutes while I was driving up from Chicago," he informed Napoleon, "so I have first rights to the couch."

Napoleon slumped into a chair in front of one of the consoles. "Very well," he conceded, "but if we're dividing things all that evenly, I shall expect a bit more help than you usually give when it comes to making out our report." Peering about the console, he located the antenna jack and attached the detector.

"I'm getting a little behind on sleep myself," Brattner announced. "Unless you need me...?

"No, go ahead," Solo assured him. "Keep your communicator handy so we can contact you if anything happens. I assume you don't live too far away."

"Not far. I can be here in five minutes if—" He broke off abruptly and Napoleon whirled to the detector. The sound of a beep was dying away and a bright green dot showed two thirds of the way up the screen. Illya came jerkily awake and sat up on the couch. Brattner peered over Napoleon's shoulder at the detector screen.

"Thrush doesn't like to waste time, does it?" Napoleon commented. "Can you tell the location?"

Brattner shook his head. "Doesn't look as if it's moved from her apartment. They can't have taken her far, certainly."

"Strange," observed Illya as he joined them in front of the console. "It takes at least ten minutes for the coating to wear off the pill and expose the battery plates, and even with the worst case of acid indigestion, another five minutes for the charge to build up. They should be a mile away at least."

"Call your men at the apartment," Napoleon ordered. "Something may have gone wrong."

Brattner shook his head. "Can't," he said. "Since they went there for the purpose of getting knocked out, they left behind any equipment that might help Thrush—and that includes communicators. No sense in making Thrush a present of our stuff."

"All right," Illya said. "Let's get this detector into the car before the transmitter builds up another charge."

With Brattner in the lead, the agents retraced their steps through the record shop. They were in the car heading north, with Brattner at the wheel, when the detector beeped a second time. "Same place," Brattner said after a quick glance at the screen. "It's her apartment, all right; distance and direction both check."

They parked a block from Kerry's apartment, and waited for another signal from the detector. When it came, the source was still shown as the apartment, and this time the short-range wrist detector indicated the same direction.

"Let's go," Napoleon said. "Illya and I will check this out. Don, you keep your communicator channel open and be ready to back us up. I suspect," he continued, turning to Illya, "that it would be better to approach through the alley, rather than marching up to the front door."

Minutes later the two agents stood in the dark alley, trying to see through the bushes that lined the back fence. "Let's wait a few minutes," whispered Illya, "and see if we get another signal from the transmitter. One is due about now."

Napoleon nodded and looked up and down the alley. Garages lined both sides almost solidly, broken only by an occasional bush-lined fence like the one they stood behind. His nose assured him that at least one open garbage can stood nearby. "I hope no honest householder develops a sudden urge to carry out his garbage," Napoleon whispered. "Our presence here could be misinterpreted rather easily."

"Yes, I'm sure it could," a new voice broke in softly. "Just keep your hands in sight and don't make any sudden moves."

A large man stepped through the gate that opened on the far side of the nearest garage. His right hand held an object that gleamed in the faint moonlight and which was trained steadily on the two agents. As he approached, a light came on in the back yard of Kerry's building. Another man stepped through the gate to that yard a moment later. He was also armed.

Napoleon and Illya breathed simultaneous sighs of relief as they recognized the guns as U.N.C.L.E. Specials like their own. "You must be the agents guarding Miss Griffin," Napoleon said. "I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin; we're from the New York office."

The guns didn't lower. "Let's see your identification, then," one of the men said.

Napoleon and Illya eased out their wallets and displayed the gold cards. One of the local agents took their wallets and inspected the cards closely, then handed them back and holstered his gun.

"Okay," he said grudgingly. "You're who you say you are. But what are you doing skulking in the alley?"

"We started picking up signals from the transmitter about half an hour ago," Napoleon replied. "Has anything been happening here?"

"The bedroom light came on for a time about three quarters of an hour ago, but that's all. No sign of Thrush activity."

Napoleon frowned. "We'd better check things out. You can turn the light out and go back to your posts. Illya and I will go in and find out what happened."

The lock on the back door yielded to Solo in a matter of seconds and the two agents stepped silently inside. They stood motionless for a moment; gradually, the kitchen took shape in the darkness around them. The house was quiet except for an occasional snore coming from a room halfway down the hall.

Napoleon inched up to the doorway and cautiously peered around the corner. There was just enough light filtering through the shades for him to make out a sleeping form. Napoleon drew back and motioned Illya into the kitchen.

"We'd better wake her up and find out what happened," Napoleon whispered, "but how do we do it without frightening her half to death?"

Illya shrugged. "Go back outside and ring the doorbell."

Napoleon stared at him. "Your devious Russian mind is showing," he whispered. The two agents silently left the house.

Two minutes later, they were standing at the front door, confronting a disheveled and confused Kerry Griffin. She smiled sheepishly when they had explained the situation.

"After you left earlier," she explained, avoiding their eyes, "I went right to bed, but I woke up with a headache. It must have been force of habit, to take an aspirin from the bottle next to the bed. I'm not really very alert at times like that; I didn't think about the aspirin being your transmitters. I'm sorry I caused you all this trouble."

"That's all right.' Illya reassured her. "It gave the instruments a good checkout. Now we know they work correctly. You get back to sleep and we'll see you tomorrow."

"Incidentally," Napoleon said, "did the transmitter cure your headache?"

Kerry looked startled. "Why...yes, it did! I feel fine, now."

"Remarkable. Well, try not to take any more of them; we'll keep a check on this one and see how long it lasts."

Kerry nodded agreement, said goodnight to the agents, and stepped back inside. Napoleon and Illya tracked down the local U.N.C.L.E. agents for a conference.

"Just a suggestion," Napoleon warned them. "Don't be quite so efficient when and if the real Thrushes show up. Remember, the object is to get Kerry captured without getting yourselves killed, and coming out with guns in your hands is a bad way to do that. Let them get the drop on you; they won't shoot if they don't have to. Too noisy."

The agents nodded. "It's just that we've been trained to never take a chance with Thrush, and it's hard to break the habit."

"We sympathize," Illya said, "but remember that this time capturing Thrush agents gets us nowhere, and shooting it out with them is equally useless and could get you killed."

"Good enough," Napoleon said. "Now we had better get back downtown if we're going to get any sleep at all tonight. He glanced at his watch and groaned. "One-thirty already. Let's get back to the car."

Brattner looked up quizzically as Napoleon and Illya climbed into the car. "She took it by mistake while she was half asleep." Napoleon explained. "Keep the detectors on; we'll run a check of transmitter life. It varies according to whose stomach it's in, you know."

As the car pulled out into the street, the detector beeped again. "Oh, shut up!" Illya muttered irritably, then stopped abruptly as he looked at his wrist detector. "What does yours show?" he asked Brattner.